Week of Pez part 2
by brittana03nayamorris
Summary: One week of Pezberry oneshots. One week of Pezberry hotness. One week of Pezberry goodness. Pezberry week 2012
1. Inappropriate flirting

**IT'S PEZBERRY WEEK AGAIN! Who's excited? This time I plan to do every day because I love writing Pezberry too much to not. Some one shots will appear after the selected day because I have class and stuff to do as but I promise to get through them. And I hope you like them. **

**So this first one has a bit of Faberry in it as well as Pezberry. So if you enjoy both, lucky you ;) So hope you enjoy and don't forget to review. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or songs used. In other words, I own nothing. **

* * *

Day 1: Inappropriate Flirting

"Rachel, wait up!" the tiny diva stops abruptly in the middle of the hallway at the mention of her name. Instantly a smile spreads across her face. The sound of her girlfriend's voice always does this to her. Before she can turn around, soft arms wrap around her waist and pair of lips grazes the side of her jaw. Even though they're in the middle of the hallway at school (albeit it being after school), Rachel can't help but melt into her girlfriend's embrace. "Hello baby," she says softly, enjoying the peppered kisses along her neck, jaw and cheek.

"Hey yourself, Superstar." Superstar. Rachel's favorite nickname. She turns around in her girlfriend's arms and smiles when she's met with kind hazel eyes. She wraps her arms around the slightly taller girl's neck and gently massages the blonde hair on the back of her neck.

"So, how about that Glee club meeting today?" Quinn asks.

"What? Are you talking about when Santana and Mercedes ganged up on Mr. Schuester and pretty much called him a 'misogynistic pedophile who has an unhealthy obsession with young boys?" Rachel questions, knowing full well what Quinn is referring to.

"Well I believe Santana's exact words were 'creepy ass teen loving misogynist' but close enough." Rachel laughs. If there's one thing Rachel has loved about dating Quinn Fabray for the last month, is her sense of humor. Once she stopped using her sharp, sarcastic wit to tear down at others insecurities, Quinn turned out to be quite a comical girl.

"Yeah well, you know Santana. Once you get her started, there's no stopping her."

"Yup. Once you awaken Snix, only God and possibly a wooden stake can silence it."

"Quinn Fabray!" Rachel swats at her girlfriend's arm playfully.

"What?" Quinn laughs. "Don't act like you're not 98% sure that Santana's not fully human."

"She may have rage issues but I wouldn't say that she's demonic."

"Sure, sure."

"Lucy Quinn Fabray, don't mock me," Rachel chastises but the slight smile on her face lets Quinn know that she's not truly in trouble.

"Yes dear," she says, playfully giving in. Some battles aren't worth fighting. Not when she can be kissing. Which she does.

"**Q, STOP MAKING OUT WITH BERRY AND GET THE STEPPIN'!**" Quinn groans and pulls away.

"Speak of the devil," she whispers against Rachel's mouth.

"Maybe if we ignore her, she'll go away," Rachel suggests leaning in for another kiss. Quinn shakes her head.

"Not likely. She once stood in front of Breadstix for 2 hours until they opened up at 4 am because she had a craving at 2 in the morning."

"Very true."

"Come on Berry. We gots a William Schuester special weeklong assignment we needs to be working on."

"I better go," Rachel says sighing.

"Call me later?" Quinn asks pulling away completely so Rachel is free standing in the hallway again.

"Always," she says tenderly.

"Okay. Bye Superstar." Quinn pecks her lips quickly. "Later bitch," she says to the Cheerio at the end of the hallway.

"Bye Lucy," Santana yells back. Quinn chuckles before heading down the hallway and out of the school.

Looking down the hall, Rachel sees the bane of her existence standing with her arms across her chest and obnoxiously tapping her foot on the ground. Okay, maybe not the bane of her existence. Over the years, she's actually grown quite fond of the Cheerio, as a matter of fact. But the more time they spend together; the more Rachel can't stand some of her less desirable attributes. So instead of the bane of her existence, the Cheerio's more like the hangnail to her finger. The thorn to her side. The period to her beach party. The zit to her face. The curfew to her prom night. In other words: **Santana Lopez**.

Why did Mr. Schue have to assign the two of them to be duet partners for the collaboration assignment? They couldn't be more different. She's Broadway, Barbra and old school classics. Santana's alternative, rap and Top 40. How on earth will they reach a compromise is beyond her.

Looking at her phone, Rachel sets her alarm for 6 o'clock. She has voice lessons at 7 so that gives her and Santana about two hours to select songs, argue about said song selections, reach some sort of forced compromise and if she's lucky, start rehearsing. Let the countdown begin.

#####

"So have you started thinking about song selections? Because I have few ideas already," Rachel says as she enters the choir room with Santana right behind her.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a great ass?" Rachel freezes. What the hell?

"Um, what?" she says still facing away from the Cheerio, too afraid to turn around.

"I said, has anyone ever told you that you have a great ass," Santana repeats entering the room. This time Rachel turns around and considering it takes the Cheerio a few seconds to lift her eyes to meet Rachel's, she was indeed leering.

"Excuse me, what?" Rachel is seriously confused right now. One second, Santana is yelling at her. The next, she's just nonchalantly commenting on her butt.

"I don't know. You were walking with that short skirt on all day and your ass looked all cute and shit so I just had to comment." Santana admits like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Starting to feel a bit uncomfortable under the Cheerio's intense almost blackened gaze, Rachel makes her way to the side of the piano where she sets down her bag, sheet music and musical notebook.

"Okay. I'm just going to ignore all of that and go back to my original question," she says trying to move past the last couple minutes as fast as possible.

"Qué pregunta hermosa?" Santana asks and Rachel nearly knocks some of her papers on the floor. Something about the way Santana says the simplest thing in Spanish, makes her legs go weak. In an attempt to refocus, she repeats the mantra that she always says in her head when she meets an attractive girl and she gets distracted. "Quinn is my girlfriend and music is my life. Quinn is my girlfriend and music is my life," she says under her breath.

"Talking to yourself there, Berry?"

"Holy cra-" When did she get right next to the piano? Clenching her unnaturally fast beating heart, Rachel tries to level her breathing. "You sure do move fast," she says between gasps.

"Usually," Santana says, picking up the pieces of sheet music and slowly goes through it. "But sometimes," she lines the pages up, gently tapping the pile on the piano to make the pile as neat as possible before setting it back down. "I like to go **slow**." She takes a step closer to the diva who takes a step backwards. "**Very**." Step forward. Step backwards. "**Very**." Step forward. Step backwards. "**Very slowly**." A step forwards and a step backwards. Rachel turns her back to the piano and Santana takes the opportunity to stand in front of her. Face to face. With very little space between her back and the piano.

"S-S-Santana," Rachel squeezes out with a labored breath.

"Yes?" The Cheerio answers, licking her pout lip, which it takes another recitation of the mantra for Rachel to take her eyes off of them.

"Our assignment."

"What about it?"

"We need a song."

"I have a few ideas." Back in business.

"Okay, great. Just let me get my notebook and we can just,-" Rachel reaches for her notebook next to her sheet music but is stopped when Santana grabs her by the wrist and pins it (and Rachel) to the piano. Either it's the way she's slammed up against the hard, black metal or the way that Santana is only inches from being pressed completely against her body, has Rachel breathless. "Don't bother," Santana says much too close to Rachel's face. So close she can smell her lip gloss. Cinnamin. "I've got it memorized. Wannna know?" Still struggling to breath (and think properly for that matter), Rachel just looks her duet partner in the eyes and nods. "How about 'Wet the bed' by Chris Brown and Ludacris?" Rachel sighs and rolls her eyes. Of course she would say something like that.

"As interesting as that duet is, I don't think that either of us is prepared to rap. Besides, it's very inappropriate," she comments.

"Killjoy. How about 'Turn me on' by David Guetta and Nicki Minaj?"

"Still rapping. And David Guetta doesn't even sing in that. How can we make it into a duet?"

"Picky. Picky Berry. Okay, how about 'Unpredictable' by Jamie Foxx and Ludacris?" Rachel groans.

"God Santana, what is with you and rapping today?" Santana just shrugs. "And when are you going let me go?" Rachel shifts awkwardly under Santana's hold. Her grip is stead fast. No escape.

"You'll be free to go when we pick a song. Besides, I like you like this." Rachel blushes again. This session is not going the way she had planned. "So how about Usher's 'Scream'?" Santana suggests.

"That's not even a collaboration song."

"Fine." The Cheerio stops and goes silent. She looks off somewhere in the room and Rachel can only assume that she's thinking. "Okay. How about one I just came up with?" she suggests with a smirk.

"Santana be serious. This assignment is about the collaborative efforts of musical artists past and present."

"But this isn't for the assignment."

"But we need a song for the assignment."

"Will you just shut the hell up and listen to my Pezberry music mashup mix."

"Your what?" Rachel asks. Santana grins devilishly.

"My **Pezberry.** **Music. Mashup. Mix.**" Rachel raises an eyebrow. "God woman. Just listen." And Santana starts to sing.

_Girl get comfortable_

_We bout to do something you never done before_

_Baby not the usual_

_Tonight we getting unpredictable_

_Because you turn me on_

_Turn me on_

_I got a drink in my hand_

_But I'm wasted_

_Getting drunk off the thought of you naked_

_And the sound of your body drip, drip_

_As I kiss both sets of li-_

Santana is stopped abruptly when a small hand covers her mouth. "Okay, okay. That's enough," Rachel says chuckling. Santana laughs against the diva's hand before kissing it softly. At the feeling of the Cheeio's lips on the palm of her hand, Rachel slowly takes her hand away and puts it back at her side.

"So," Santana leans dangerously close to Rachel's lips, "do you like my mashup mix?" she husks before placing a lingering kiss on the tiny diva's cheek.

"It h-has m-m-much to be d-desired," Rachel stutters and mentally berates herself for letting Santana get so close to her. For being so weak. And enjoying it.

"Funny thing. Desire. It's like no matter how much you try to deny it. Fight it. Bury it under a shitload of insults and slushies, you can't overcome that desire. That hunger. Eventually everybody breaks down. Eventually we all give in." she pauses and takes a deep breath. "Even me." Santana leans in again but this time, she kisses Rachel's forehead. Her cheek. Her other cheek. Her nose. She lingers at her nose. The entire time, Rachel stands very still and lets Santana roam her face with her lips. It feels so good. Almost too good. But just as the Cheerio takes aim on the diva's plump lip gloss covered lips, Rachel snaps out of her lust filled daze and says one word that shatters the entire moment.

"Quinn."

"What'd you say?" Santana says jerking back, accidently freeing Rachel's hand (and body) from the piano. Rachel takes this opportunity to push past the Cheerio and starts to gather her things.

"I said Quinn. As in my **girlfriend**. And your **bestfriend**. Remember her?"

"Of course I do. And does it look like I care?"

"I have to go," Rachel tosses her sheet music and notebook into her and scurries towards the door.

"But we haven't picked a song yet."

"I'll think about something at home and then I'll call you. But right now. I have to go." Swinging her bag over her shoulder, Rachel all but sprints out of the choir room nad out of the school. She doesn't stop running until she gets to her red Prius in the parking lot. Leaning her back against the driver's side door, she takes a few deep breaths to try to settle her nerves nad calm her breathing. Once she's certain her heart isn't going to palpitate, Rachel looks back at the front door of Mckinley High School and groans.

"What the hell just happened?"

* * *

**Like? Dislike? Indifferent?**

**Till next time :)  
**


	2. First steps

**First off, thanks for all the alerts, favorites, and reviews. I know it's been a while but I've just gotten back to writing any of my stories. So since I couldn't come up with ideas for all the prompts when the week actually was, I decided to just write them as they come to me. So here's Pezberry week 2.0's day 7. It was a free day so I decided to have a little fun with Pezberry as moms. **

**So, enjoy and as always, review.**

**disclaimer: I own nothing but the adorable little Tomá****s Lopez. Mistakes are all mine **

* * *

"Santana!" Rachel shouts to her wife of 3 years from their TriBeca, New York penthouse bedroom, while looking under the bed.

"What!" Santana shouts back from the living room.

"Have you seen Tomás's diaper bag?" Santana walks from the living room, down the hallway and comes to stop in their bedroom door way.

"It's in the closet where you left it yesterday," she says, pointing towards the walk in closet. Rachel gets up the floor and walks over to the woman in the doorway.

"Is it next to your high school self?" Rachel teases before pecking Santana on the lips.

"Oh haha. Speak for yourself. I came out in high school. Well, I was forced out by you idiot ex but I digress. It took you until senior year in college to even admit to yourself that you like girls," Santana jokes in return. Rachel rolls her eyes and goes to the closet. "And why do you need the diaper bag anyway? I just put Tomás to sleep and considering how long his nap was yesterday, it should be at least an hour or so before he may need changing."

"Well I took my watch off and left my it in it after he tried to rip it off all day at the park."

"He has gotten a bit handsy lately."

"Well now we know that he truly takes after his Mami," Rachel says with a grin. Santana scoffs before crossing the threshold into the room and walking behind her wife who is opening the door to the closet. "You love that I'm so handsy," she says, wrapping her arms around Rachel's waist. Rachel jumps at the sudden contact but quickly relaxes in the familiar touch of her wife.

"I do now," Rachel says, gently rubbing along Santana's bare arms. "However I didn't like it so much when our parents came to visit us for dinner last week and you were insistent on trying to feel me up in a public restaurant."

"What? Can you blame me? You were the one who wore your 'fuck me' date dress to dinner with the parentals."

"Well it is the nicest dress I have right now that they haven't seen. And I thought you could control yourself but I was wrong."

"You were not. I normally can control myself but you in that dress…it was just…and you were…" Santana takes a deep breath and as soon as the smell of Rachel's perfume hits her senses, she loses it. Lowering her head, Santana starts placing eager kisses along Rachel's neck, jaw line and ear.

"Santana, what, _mmm_, are you, _oh god_, doing?" Rachel asks but doesn't fight. Instead, she reaches her right arm behind her and takes a hold of the raven hair on the back of her wife's head.

"How, _kiss_, about, _kiss_, quickie, _kiss_, before, _suck_, the little, _nibble, _runt, _kiss, _wakes, _kiss_, up, _lick_?"

"How about, _oh my_, you," Rachel, though reluctant to break away, pries Santana's arms from around her waist and steps out of her grasp, "stop and let me find my watch so I can get to set before Artie yells at me again."

"But babyyyy," Santana whines. "It'll be quick. Just give me 10 minutes." Rachel crosses her arms.

"Oh please. Like you could ever be fast. You love foreplay too much."

"Well I'll be willing to skip it so I can get to the good stuff and have you right now." She reaches out to grab Rachel but she is blocked when her wife puts her hands on her chest to keep her at arm's length. Sensing the seriousness in her wife's voice, Santana gives up and takes a step back.

"Okay. Fine," she groans.

"Thank you."

"Well if we aren't going to have sex, how about you tell Mama Tana about this other time that Wheels yelled at my wife?"

#####

"That's a wrap everyone!" Artie shouts from the director's chair. "We've got some editing to do so we'll pick back up after the weekend. Okay?" The cast on the set agrees in an assortment of nods and ad-libbed "okay's" and "sure thing's".

"Great scene, Rach," Quinn says getting up from the floor where her character Rosalind had just been shot in the chest. After graduation from NYADA and Yale, Rachel went directly to Broadway and after finding a passion for drama; her blonde haired best friend went to graduate school for acting. And now after ten years of hard work and a very good screenplay presented to them by Artie, the pair reunited in New York at a local Starbucks and decided to embark on a journey onto the big screen together.

"Thanks Quinn," Rachel says, coming from behind the couch where her character Laura was hiding during the shooting. "But at least I didn't have to play someone dying."

"Rosalind isn't dead," Quinn argues. "Not yet at least. We have to wait for Artie to revise the rest of the script before we find out her fate."

"Very true." Just then the pair hears the familiar tone of Amy Winehouse's "Valerie" playing from her purse in her actor's chair.

"Santana?" Quinn asks like she doesn't already know the answer.

"Who else?" Rachel says walking over the her chair. She digs through her purse and pulls out her cell. Clicking the answer button, she doesn't get even get to answer.

"ESTRELLA! ESTRELLA!" Rachel hears Santana yell loudly through the phone. So loud that she has to take the phone away from her ear.

"Santana what on earth are you yelling about?" she asks, putting the phone back to her ear.

"He did it!"

"He did what? And who's he?"

"Tomás. Our son. Our amazing little one year, that's who."

"Okay. What about him?" she pauses. "Omigod. Did something happen to him?

"What happened to who?" Quinn asks while wiping the fake blood off her face.

"Tomás. Something happened to Tomás." Quinn nods. "Is he okay? Do I need to go to the hospital? Should I leave now? Quinn, do you have your car?"

"Yeah but…"

"Rachellll!" the small brunette stops looking around frantically at the sound of her wife yelling her name. "Will you calm the fuck down?"

"How can I when something happened to my baby boy and I'm too busy on a fucking movie set."

"Okay, as much as I love it when you curse, Imma needs for you to breathe and listen. Okay, now take a deep breath." Rachel, though still inwardly panicking, does what she's told and takes a deep breath. "Good?" Rachel nods even though she knows Santana can't see her. "Now, let me explain."

"Okay."

"Nothing happened to Tomás. Our beautiful little amazing rugrat took his first steps!"

"WHAT?!" Rachel squeals.

"WHAT?!" Quinn shrieks in response to Rachel's squealing.

"Yes!" Santana cheers in response to it all. "Hey, was that Blondie Q?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Tell her I said hey." Rachel turns to Quinn, who is looking at the whole scene with confusion written all over her face.

"Tana says 'hey'," she says.

"Tell her that if something happened to my godchild on her watch, I will kick her ass," Quinn says.

"I'm not saying that."

"Don't worry. I heard," Santana says. "And tell that bitch that she can bite me,"

"And I'm not saying that."

"Don't worry. I heard her too," Quinn says. Rachel rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Why she tries to play mediator between the two best frenemies, is beyond her.

"Well, anyway. So get home as soon as you can. Imma try to get him to do it again and tape it so you can see it."

"Oh please do!" Rachel says excitedly. "And why is it that I spend the most time with him but so far, all of his first happen when he's with you?"

"So not true," Santana argues.

"So true. He said his first word about a month ago when I was reading over the script with Artie. Which was Mami by the way."

"Okay. One thing."

"He laughed first when you were holding him. And now he takes his first steps when you're watching him even though I spent the entire day with him yesterday and he didn't do a damn thing but cling to my chest and almost break my watch."

"Wait. Are you getting mad at our kid? Our one year old son, for not doing milestone shit when you're around?"

"That's not what I'm saying," Rachel tries to argue.

"That's exactly what you're saying," Santana and Quinn say simultaneously.

"Stay out of this, Quinn!" Rachel yells. Quinn just shrugs her shoulders and steps back.

"I can recognize when I'm not wanted in a place. So I'll be in my dressing room if you need me." She then walks away.

"Look, all I'm saying is that…"

"Is that because for once, the world is not all about you and you're not happy about it?" Santana snaps.

"I know that the world doesn't revolve around me. I just want him to do something that I can see first," Rachel whines.

"Baby, he's a year old. I'm pretty sure there's gonna be a lot of firsts that we will and will not want to know about. So just get home quickly so we can record him together," Santana suggests.

"I guess that's okay," Rachel agrees, pouting.

"Good. And stop pouting. I can practically hear you through the phone, you big baby," Santana says, chuckling.

"Oh shut up! Just be ready for when I get home. Give me 20 minutes. And keep him off his feet. No need for him to get too experienced before I can see his wobbly little steps," Rachel coos.

"Oh great. So you're going to be **that **mom?"

"What mom?"

"The one that obsesses about every little thing their kid does and makes the simplest thing seem like the kid won a fucking Olympic gold metal."

"Do you not know who you married?"

"Rachel Lopez."

"No. You married Rachel Berry and Rachel Berry has always been this way. I don't know why you expected any less that obsessive.""

"True. But whatever. Just get your ass home."

"On my way."

"Please don't say that."

#####

"Come on mijo." Nothing.

"You can do it, my love." Nothing.

"Camina por Mami." Nothing. For nearly an hour, Santana and Rachel have been at work trying to get their year old son to walk. But all he does as soon as they get him to his plump little caramel colored feet is stand there…then fall right down on his diaper.

"Well he did it before," Santana says setting the camera down on the table next to the couch. "I don't know why he isn't doing it now."

"Maybe because he has an audience," Rachel suggests, smiling when Tomás starts playing with his feet, happily and carelessly rocking back and forth.

"Oh please. He's a Lopez with a hint of Berry. He betta get used to an audience."

"Well what do you suggest?" Rachel asks.

"Maybe I need to recreate what I was doing before he started walking? Like on T.V."

"Which was?"

"Well," Santana gets up from the couch, walks to the middle of the living room, gets down on her knees on front of Tomas and extending her arms, waits for him to stop playing with his feet (which is just too adorable) before picking him up. "Hey mijo," she says smiling when he wraps his little arms around her neck and holds on tight. "Damn boy, Mom is right. You are handsy."

"Santana. What did I tell you about cursing in front of him?" Rachel chastises.

"Sorry Estrella," Santana apologizes. "So anyway, me and the little one were in the kitchen about to have lunch." As she talks, she walks into the kitchen. Rachel gets from the couch, grabs the camera from off the table and follows her wife and son into the kitchen.

"Okay. Kitchen. So then what?" Rachel asks.

"Mike called talking some shit,"

"Santana!" Rachel yells, which makes Tomas laugh.

"Sorry," Santana says, rolling her eyes. She's still pretty new to this whole mom thing so censoring herself is a bit of a challenge. "So anyway, Mike called talking some crap about how he wants to take his little boy to a baseball tomorrow. And I told him that even though he's the sperm donor, Tomás came from my vagina." Rachel rolls her eyes. Some things will never change no matter how much she tries. "So he is most definitely a soccer fan."

"And then?" Rachel asks, wondering where on earth Santana little tale is heading.

"Well then he said I was being racist assuming that just because Tomás is half Puerto Rican, that he would love soccer over baseball. And I said that that it was racist to assume that that was the reason I said he would like soccer."

"And where was Tomas during all this?"

"Oh yeah. As soon as the phone rang, I put him down on the floor. And then after boy Chang's spiel about how baseball is the best sport ever. Lies by the way." Rachel just shakes her head. "So anyway, I turned my back to him and the next thing I knew, I see this enano," she tickles the little boy's sides, which causes him to bust out giggling. And for a moment, both Rachel and Santana forget about anything else in the world except how incredibly adorable their son looks with his short black hair, dark brown eyes shut because of his plump cheeks pushing them closed, and his little 2 teeth filled mouth open emitting the cutest sound ever heard by man.

"So then what happened?" Rachel asks, breaking the moment and returning to the task at hand.

"Well then I flipped my shit and called you," Santana answers; completely ignoring Rachel's numerous 'don't curse in front of kids' warnings. One might think that after 3 years of marriage and 3 years of dating prior that she'd learn. But no.

"Well then," Rachel picks up the camera, "let's just recreate that exact scene."

"Okay."

"So you act like you got a phone call and then put Tomás down on the exact spot that you put him before. Then turn your back to him. And if he decides to walk again, I'll catch on camera."

"Sounds easy enough. Let's do it."

#####

Except it turned out to not be that easy. For some reason, no matter how Santana puts him down or how dramatically she takes her imaginary phone call or even how inconspicuous Rachel tries to be with the camera, Tomás just refuses to walk. Instead, he just stands next to the table, teetering on his little legs, giggling. For a half an hour. Eventually the couple gives up. "He's really being stubborn, now isn't he?" Santana asks, plopping down in one of the dining table chairs.

"Like mother, like son," Rachel jokes, mirroring her actions.

"Whatever. 'Like mothers, like son.' Don't act like you're not just as stubborn. If not more."

"Be that as it may, it doesn't negate the fact that our son refuses to walk for us."

"Well, he did walk for me."

"No. You weren't paying attention. He walked. You caught him. It's not the same thing."

"Oh really?" Santana challenges, turning to face her wife with her arms crossed.

"Yes really," Rachel counters, mirroring her wife's movements.

"But at least I caught him. What did you see?" Rachel gasps dramatically.

"See. That's not fair, Santana," she says in what Santana likes to call her "serious voice".

"But it's the truth. You know how I am about kee-,"

"If you say 'keeping it real', I swear I will kick you," Rachel threatens, clinching her fists on top of the table in front of her. Santana is about to continue arguing but she chooses to shut her mouth and cut her losses for the sake of her marriage. She reaches across the table with both hands and takes hold of the tiny tight fists growing white with anger. "Baby, please calm down," she says softly, gently trying to massage away the tension building in between each tiny digit.

"Don't you tell me to calm down!" Rachel snaps, yanking her hands out of Santana's grasp. "You always say these things that get me all riled up and then you tell me to calm the fuck down? No. Not today. Today I'm mad at you and I just want to be mad at you for a bit."

"But Estrella," Santana pleads.

"No. You don't get to **'Estrella'** me. You don't get to pout your way back into my good graces."

"But Rach," Santana's eyes get bigger as she looks past her wife's head.

"Don't but me again, Santana. I'm serious right now." Santana rolls her eyes and sighs.

"**Goddammit!** Rachel Barbra Lopez! Will you shut the hell up and fucking look behind you?!"

"What? Why?"

"Just fucking do it!"

"Okay!" Rachel whips her head around and almost starts crying instantly. "Oh. My. God." Just outside the kitchen, she sees Tomas waddling around the living room. So caught up in their argument over nothing, the couple hadn't noticed their little son push himself off the floor, wobble onto his feet, make his way out of the kitchen and into the living room.

"Way to go, mijo," Santana says from behind the camera (which Rachel never noticed she had picked up) with tears in her eyes.

"That's our boy," Rachel says wiping tears from her cheeks.

"Yup," Santana agrees, "That's our boy."


End file.
